


Two Bits

by BeaRyan



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Glorification of drug use, Hairvolution, M/M, Oral Sex, Shaving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-09
Updated: 2013-07-09
Packaged: 2017-12-18 06:03:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/876462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeaRyan/pseuds/BeaRyan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bass gets high, decides he's a pirate, and joins Team Haircut.  A more subtle story than "Miles Gets a Haircut."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Bits

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ElDiablito_SF](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElDiablito_SF/gifts).



Bass was seriously motherfucking high. He felt 22. He felt great. He felt vaguely resentful that no one else was awake. 

“Suck it, Neville,” he thought. “Running shithole was a pain in the ass with electricity when it wasn't radioactive. I've got my pendant and my man. Hope you enjoy your glow in the dark empire.” 

He didn't have his man at this exact moment though. Miles, who had stuck to whiskey all night, had gone to bed hours ago. He'd told Bass, who was wide awake and tweaked out of his gourd, to go play next door until he came down. Bass had complied, looting the long abandoned house with glee.

First he found the pile of electronic devices, still on their chargers in the kitchen. He used his pendant to turn them on and scrolled through pictures and old texts, hoping for porn and coming up empty. He moved into the music files next and didn't recognize any of the songs. He played them anyway. The “untz, untz, untz” of club music took him back in time. Germany. They'd been stationed together for a year in Stuttgart and they'd made the most of it. Smack in the middle of Europe they'd taken every leave opportunity available, made the most of every long weekend, and had managed to fuck in most of the countries that took the Euro. It had been great. Then Miles had gotten assigned to Parris Island. It had taken Bass a year to get an assignment near him and by the time he caught up Miles was claiming exclusive heterosexuality again. 

“Fuck this!!” Bass screamed at no one in particular as he scratched at bugs that weren't crawling on him. He needed to refocus this ride. 

He used his pendant to run the microwave, melting plastic and making sparks on a fork just because he could. He wished he had some marshmallow Peeps. Electro-asssinating those had always been fun when he was flying. Back when Miles was fun they'd MST3K the show. 

Next he moved to the bathroom. There'd be stuff to run with his pendant there. He grabbed the flat iron. He'd get hair like the Three Stooges and then pounce on Miles. He'd buttfuck the Butcher of Baltimore while yelling, “Woob, woob, woob,” and muttering, “A wise guy, aye?” Maybe he'd even get a little rough, making it look all dramatic and violent like in the movies. It would be epic. 

Hot irons take too damn long to heat up. 

He used the hairdryer to blow hot air first in his face and then in his pants. The literal blow job was unsatisfying. 

He moved to the counter opposite the sink, rummaging through the tangle of hair accessories before finding the electric razor at the bottom of the pile. He giggled excitedly. He loved a shorn scrotum; it felt great both to have one and to work one. Manscaping was one of the high points of civilization and he missed it. Everything looked bigger, it was easier to get to, and short hairs were less likely to be accidentally pulled or swallowed. Gagging wasn't sexy and pain was only hot when skillfully, intentionally applied. The only clipper guard he found was a number 4, half an inch long. He decided to go bare rather than too long. He used the pendant to fire up the razor and enjoyed the vibrations against his balls as the hairs fell away. 

He'd felt that getting shorn by a straight razor didn't have an adequate risk-reward balance, and he'd lost 700 men just to gain control of New Jersey. As he felt the gentle buzz of the razor he tried to used the power of his mind to amp up the tremors into something they weren't. He wondered how much more peaceful the world would have been if they'd been able to use batteries for the last 15 years. A decade and a half without a singe working vibrator anywhere on the planet. To his mind, it explained a lot about the state of things. 

He walked into the bedroom and pillaged the nightstand. Nothing. The lingerie drawer then. He grinned in wonder at the buffet of frilly delights before him. It was a costumer's paradise. The eye patch immediately caught his eye. Then he found the ruffled shirt and sword belt. Instead of doubloons in the leather pouch he found toys. Miles had to see this. Bass geared up, stowing the razor and guard in his toy pouch, and barely noticed he wasn't wearing pants. He quickly scurried out the front door and up the steps of the neighboring house. He didn't bother to be subtle as he mounted Miles, planting a foot on either side of him and standing on the bed. He began jumping, bouncing them both and yelling, “Ahoy, Matey! It's time to suck my plank!” 

Miles squinted open his eyes and glared. “Go to bed, Bass.” 

“Play with me, Miles.”

“You're tripping balls, Bass. Just ride it out and go to sleep.” 

“My balls, Miles! Check out my balls. What does this remind you of?”

Miles closed his eyes and rolled over, trying to ignore the problem away. 

Bass wasn't going to give up so easily. “Pirate shirt, eye patch, shaved balls. I'm a butt pirate! Arrrr!! It's just like fucking Ibiza, Miles. You remember Ibiza, right?” 

Miles rolled back to his back, staring at the sight above him as a faint smile flitted across his face. “Ibiza was crazy. We were younger. No boundaries.”

Bass saw what might be an opening and pounced on it, dropping to his knees, grabbing the headboard, and hovering his equipment above Miles's face. 

“You're subtle,” Miles commented. 

“Suck it, Miles,” Bass said, his tone trapped between begging and ordering.

“Shave your head,” Miles answered. Bass cocked his head and stared down at Miles, cock resting near his lips. Miles continued, “If you want me to pretend it's 20 years ago, shave your head, just like back then. We had NO body hair that weekend as I remember.”

“I'll shave yours if you'll shave mine,” Bass answered with disturbing intensity. “Just like Ibiza.” 

Miles moved to a sitting position and Bass moved back to standing. Miles took Bass's cock in his mouth and Bass took the electric razor from his pouch. The hairs fell as their passion swelled. When Bass had come undone and Miles was shorn, they traded positions, first trimming Miles's nether forest, then repeating the head process, skin and need both coming to light. 

“This bed is a fucking mess,” Miles said as he collapsed into it.

“Just like Ibiza,” Bass answered.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Happy birthday, El. 
> 
> 2\. Don't try this at home. Looting abandoned houses while tripping balls or sending your friends to do so is expressly discouraged by the author. 
> 
> 3\. All comments are welcome.


End file.
